Lost In Carnage
by tantingelf
Summary: Elivia is a young Bosmer woman raised in the ways of blood and shadows. When she receives a contract signed by Lucien Lachance himself, she has no choice but to join a warrior and a mage in the Cyrodiil Tournament and fight along side them to survive.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Elder Scrolls Oblivion or most of the names used here here. I merely wanted to make it as close to the game as possible so I used them to help things flow. Elivia is mine, though. And so is Voril and Honoratus, but those two don't show up till later.

* * *

"Gaaaugh!" A large jolt ran down my spine, halting my forward movement and throwing me backwards. I tumbled across the rocky ground twice before coming to rest upon my back. My body ached terribly but I knew I had to get up. I couldn't stay in one place or I'd be done for. Still, how wonderful it would be to just lay here in the dirt collect my thoughts and ease my muscles. How nice it would be to not have to move.

A sudden charging roar sent me scrambling to my feet. I rolled away just in time to save myself from being smashed in the side by my crazed opponent's hammer. He swung it wildly and I did everything in my power to keep my feet from tangling together as I rushed backwards. Still he pressed in upon me, each blow seemed to be getting closer. I could feel the air swirling in the wake of the weapon. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I could feel…the rock against my back?

Not good! My mind screamed. I was trapped! The crazed man swung again, meaning to take off my head, but I ducked in the nick of time. His hammer smashed upon the hard stone. Exploding shards of rock dug into my face and arms like small razors. I screamed and darted away, hoping to gain some distance between him and I before he recovered. To my distress, he was not slowed by his miss-hit. He raced after me and I knew there was no hope of surviving this attack unless I found some high ground he could not get to.

Sheogorath was smiling upon me that day for I spotted a large rock jutting out from the earth. I raced towards it, my insane attacker on my heels, and at the last moment, I lunged forward and up. My expert fingers located hidden handholds instantly. I scaled the side of the rock and quickly got out of the man's reach. Breathing heavily, I sat perched upon the top of the rock for a moment. I was nearly dead there!

He screamed profanity up at me as he circled my sanctuary. "Get down here you cur! I'm going to rip your throat out if you don't come down!" and "If you come down, I promise I won't hurt you…much…" and "Oh, is the wittle baby gonna cry? Well, start crying!" Threats, taunts – anything that would get me to come down – were shouted.

Still, I held my position, gathering my bearings, before pulling out a throwing dagger. The insane hammer-wielder was so blind with rage he didn't notice me draw the small blade and send it rocketing towards his ugly bald head.

My name was Elivia Asdara and I was an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood. I had been raised by the Brotherhood and, while other girls were learning how to cook, I was learning how to disappear. My race was Bosmer, or Wood Elf, as many preferred to call us. I was small, agile, and dexterous – perfect for my deadly profession. My looks were quite simple and bland: blond hair, blue eyes, and a light complexion. To those who did not know me, I looked innocent and small, but first impressions are often someone's last.

After raiding the dead man's corpse, I continued down the well-beaten road and into a thin cave opening. I was exhausted, hungry, and filthy. I just wanted to relax.

"How do you do?" A voice inquired as I turned a corner.

"Hello, Galaria," I whispered as I passed. There was no reason for me to converse with her right now. She'd just have to live with a hello.

Once through the long tunnel, the cave widened into a large cavern. The entire place had been converted from a bear's den to a Dark Brotherhood hideout. Crates and barrels filled with supplies were stacked along the walls and around the stalagmites. Some had been converted into makeshift tables or chairs and were covered with bottles or books. A few wooden tables lay sparsely about the cavern but those were in use by higher-ranking members. Sleeping cots and mats were also strewn about. Some were in small groups – twos or threes – while others were solitary and tucked away into corners. Candles glowed throughout the cavern, illuminating those who moved about but not dismissing the shadows that seemed to crawl in from everywhere. The shadows were our allies. The shadows kept us safe.

"How goes it?" A tall, handsome, dark-haired Imperial, by the name of Villi Trechion, asked as I approached him.

"Pretty good, I suppose. I have the ring you wanted." I fished around in my bags and located the small circlet of metal I had been sent out to locate.

Villi's eyes sparkled with delight as I handed over the ring. "You found it? Good! Good! Here is your reward – plus a bonus."

I smiled and held my coin purse, enjoying the sudden weight addition. I loved doing tasks for Villi. His rewards were always worth the trouble.

"I have another job for you, when you feel up to it – but first go rest and bathe. You smell like an ogre." His nose wrinkled in disgust and the Imperial leaned back, away from me.

I strolled away from him, smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

"No."

Villi let out an exasperated sigh. "Why not?"

"I've told you before; I don't do contracts in Cheydinhal."

"But you started out in Cheydinhal."

Now it was my turn to sigh. "I will accept contracts from the Cheydinhal sanctuary, but I will not perform any contract that involves someone within Cheydinhal's walls."

"By Sithis! I don't understand fear of yours."

"It's not a fear. It's a promise."

"Speak it to me and maybe I can understand."

I closed my eyes, pausing for a moment before opening them and looking down at his boots. "It's a weakness I possess. I grew up in Cheydinhal and I have never been able to bring myself to harm an inhabitant of it."

Instead of the laughing retort I had expected, Villi put a hand under my chin and tilted my face up. His normally hard face was soft, caring. This wasn't something I was used to seeing. "My dear, this is one reason I enjoy working with you. You are one of our finest assassins and yet you still posses the gentleness of a young woman. How you have been able to hold onto that part of yourself through all the blood and pain, I am not sure. It is a rare characteristic and a valuable strength. Especially for this contract I am giving you."

I smiled and decided to at least see what the contract entailed. "Alright, let me see it."

Villi handed me a scroll, giving me a summary of what was stated within. "The count of Cheydinhal has decided to get the best of the best within his city's walls and gather them together for the Cyrodiil Tournament and–"

"The what?"

"The Cyrodill Tournament. Have you never heard of it?"

I shook my head.

"It's a tournament thrown every twenty years for the entire province to enjoy. Every city chooses three specialists to go up into the mountains and survive there for four weeks. One must be a mage, another a warrior, and a third a thief. The only way to win this tourney is to remove the other teams from the challenge. By either making deals with, incapacitating, or killing the other teams. The rules will be explained further if you're accepted into the tourney. Right now I need you to run along and get to Cheydinhal. Do something that gets you noticed and shows off your skills. Talk with Vicente Valtieri to get the details on any others trying out."

"Why does the Night Mother want one of us to enter this tournament?"

"It's been decided that a few of the already chosen members need to cease breathing. And in order to assure this success, we want to make sure one of the Brotherhood is entwined in this. This is a big deal. Don't screw it up."


	3. Chapter 3

Cheydinhal was a beautiful city. Tall, decorative buildings surrounded lush ponds and gardens. Covered bridges were made out of the finest pines and intricately carved by the finest craftsmen. The castle sat at the head of the city. Built perfectly out of stone. The population consisted mostly of Dumner and the inhabitants dressed well and were never afraid to walk about their town, not even at night. Even the poor were happy.

I hated it.

I had grown up in Cheydinhal, but in my youth, the city had never been like this. It used to be dirty and run-down. Not even the poor were safe from robbery. It was a city of hunger and despair. My father had come to Cheydinhal to fix that, to make it a better place, and had been killed for it. Now, though, the citizens were embracing what he sought to do, and they never gave him any of the credit.

I clicked at my horse and urged it onward towards the stables outside the city walls. As I dismounted, a young boy ran to meet me. "Shall I care for your horse, ma'am?" he inquired politely.

I nodded and fished out one hundred gold pieces and placed them in a small sack before handing it to the boy. "I may be in town for a few days. If you feed my horse the best grain you posses, brush her every day, and care for her while I am away, I will give you another one hundred gold when I come to retrieve her." The boy's eyes were huge when I handed him the sack. I'm quite certain he'd never seen so much gold in his life.

As I walked away, a paused, staring straight ahead. "And if my horse is not cared for, I'll cut off the fingers of you and your family. Understood?"

"Y-yes ma'am," the boy stuttered.

I did not enjoy making threats to children, but I'd had too many stable hands take my money and then treat my horse like a pig. I wasn't having that this time.

I walked through the front gates of the city and strolled down the street towards an abandoned home. This was one of the few parts of Cheydinhal that resembled my childhood. It comforted me, somehow. Even though so much pain had occurred to me within those walls, the familiarity of the structure made me feel at ease.

As I approached the house, I was thinking of ways in which I could publicly demonstrate my abilities. The idea was so unheard of. My first instinct was to think the orders were a test – a way for the Black Hand to determine if I would actually perform some feat that would alert the public of our presence. But the orders were legit. Lucien Lachance had signed them himself and no one dared forge Lachance's name.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to go out of my way to perform this mission. The mission came to me – in the form of a drunken Orc.

"Well aren't you just the cutest little wood elf!" he declared, coming up behind me and slapping me on the back. I stumbled forward but managed to keep my balance. Turning slowly, I assessed the Orc. He was easily seven feet tall, far overshadowing my slim, five-foot frame. He was also a good four times as wide and thick as I was. Large, bulging muscles rippled under his stained tunic, catching the dirty fabric and twisting it whenever he moved. His skin was a dark green and splotched with mud. It was obvious this Orc had not showered recently and the smell confirmed it. The only parts of him that my mind registered as a threat was a large ebony claymore slung across his back and a dagger tucked into his belt.

I decided to be polite for once, ignoring the desire to slip my dagger between his ribs, and merely said: "Thank you, sir," and turned around to walk away.

"No!" His hand came out and made a grab for my shoulder but his drunkenness made him miss his mark, causing his hand to slam into my shoulder and spin me around. I growled at him and backed away, rolling my bruised shoulder. He ignored my growl and bellowed out, "I demand that you come drink with me. We must drink! Yes!"

"I am sorry," I hissed through my teeth, struggling to keep the red out of my vision. An audience had suddenly appeared and I could not have witnesses to a murder. "But I am late for a meeting and cannot spare the time."

"We must drink!" He threw his hand out to attempt to grab at me again. Few people have ever been able to strike me once and live. This Orc had already hit me twice. There was no way in Sithus' name he was going to a third time.

I fell into a crouch and his hand whisked by above, grabbing at the empty air. He roared and lunged for me, but once again I was too fast. I rolled to the right and pivoted around on my left hand, smashing my foot into the back of the Orc's ugly bald head. He slammed face first into the stone road and laid still. Even though he did not move, I remained in my crouched position. I'd fought many Orcs in my days and knew they did not go down so easily – even the drunk ones. I'd merely knocked the sense out of him.

Sure enough, the Orc heaved himself back up to his feet. Blood gushed from his newly broken nose, soaking his tunic in a deep red. He swayed slightly before planting his feet and drawing his claymore. A stream of gasps were heard from around us as our audience quickly backed away – all wanting to stay out of range of such a dangerous weapon yet still desiring to see bloodshed. I hated these people. What if I was some defenseless Bosmer woman and needed help? I knew they would not provide it. The Cheydinhal people had always been like this. There was no decent soul within this city's walls.

I started to pull a dagger, knowing just where to sink the blade – into the base of the back of his neck. His spine would be severed and so would his jugular. He'd fall silently and instantly, his body paralyzed and dying.

But then I saw Lucien Lachance among the watchers.

Our eyes met and he lightly shook his head, mouthing the word: "thief".

I struggled to keep my expression calm as I fully pulled the dagger from its sheath. I needed to act like a thief, not an assassin. I could not kill this damned Orc. But that didn't matter. Daggers weren't only good for stabbing.

The Orc laughed at the puny weapon I'd drawn and swung his claymore before him, showing just how much reach he had, before slamming it into the stone below us. The rock buckled and shattered at the force. One hit with that weapon and I wouldn't be getting back up again. Good thing I wasn't planning on getting struck.

He grinned wickedly and charged, swinging his blade again, only this time meaning to cut me in two. I lunged at him, took two steps, and sprung up into the air and vaulted over his massive shoulders. The hilt of my dagger slammed into the back of his head. The Orc roared and stumbled as I lightly landed on the stones. I crouched down and held the dagger tightly. This Orc had a thick skull and may need a few more cracks before he'd go down.

Just as he was spinning around to face me and swing his blade again, I broke into movement, racing up to him. He swung wildly and I was able to jump and land upon the flat of his blade before jumping over him again and slamming the hilt of my dagger into the same spot on his skull. Instead of ending his swing, he gave up his footing and let himself roll completely around. I rolled beneath the sweeping blade and sprung up into the air, letting my dagger fly at his bald head. Once again the hilt hit the same area as before. The Orc grunted and kept spinning, his claymore leaving his hands and flying widely over the audience's heads before clattering to the ground. He slammed into the rocks and laid still.

I landed lightly again and resumed my crouch, watching my opponent. Only a fool believes he or she has won once the enemy is lying on the ground. It could be just a tactical ploy to make one get within reaching distance.

When he did not move for a few seconds, I circled around the oaf, slowly moving closer yet being prepared to spring back at the first sign of movement. He remained still and after further examination, I found him to be completely unconscious.

"Damn Orc," I mumbled, bending down to retrieve my thrown blade.

"Amazing!" a sudden cry of joy exclaimed. I stood up straight and eyed a guard who entered the circle of watchers. "I have never seen someone move so fluidly and precise in my life!"

"Glad I could entertain you," I growled, angered at the fact there were guards mixed in with the audience and they had done nothing to stop the confrontation. I did not enjoy being an item of amusement for citizens. I was someone to fear. I could kill everyone in this town without the guards even knowing it. I was no entertainer.

"The Count will wish to see you!" the guard went on, ignoring my glare. "I believe you are quite qualified for his task. I believe you will even win it!"

"What task?" I growled.

He looked taken aback. "You do not know the test the Count had devised? It is for thieves."

"What gives you the idea that I am a thief?"

He grinned a knowing grin. "I have seen many _thieves_. One never forgets how they move."

The way he stressed the word "thieves" led me to believe he knew I was not a thief. No guards of Cheydinhal knew about the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary within the city. If one did learn such knowledge, he or she often disappeared, never to be heard from again. So this one must have met assassins not related to us. The Dark Brotherhood was never sloppy. We never left witnesses.

"You are from Cheydinhal, are you not?" He asked, suddenly serious.

I nodded. "Yes. I was actually returning home when I was so rudely interrupted."

He motioned for me to follow him. "Come, come. The Count will love to add you to the list of participants."

I hated being ordered around by idiot guards but I followed him anyway, throwing one quick glance towards where Lachance was. The Speaker had already dissolved into the dispersing crowd and was nowhere to be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

The guard led me through the city, straight up into the Cheydinhal Castle. We entered the throne room but the Count was nowhere to be seen.

"Wait here," the guard ordered. "Commoners are not allowed to venture through the castle. I will see if Count Indarys is in his sleeping chambers."

I rolled my eyes as the guard left. Raiding Cheydinhal Castle was a common past time for me. I knew the entire layout like the back of my hand. Only upstanding, law-abiding citizens weren't allowed to roam. The rest of us just went about and did it anyway.

Knowing the guard was bound to take forever with this pathetic task, I leaned against a pillar and closed my eyes. I'd never admit it, but my shoulder was killing me. That Orc had a hard hand. I shifted around a little so my bruising flesh was against the pillar. My thin, flexible armor covered me, but I could still feel the coolness of the marble, and it eased the throbbing heat of the wound.

"Oh great, another one."

My eyes darted across the room towards a Dunmer man dressed in mage's robes. His hair was cropped short, common for Dark Elf mages, and a dark red. His eyes were red as well, but much brighter and with a twinkle of magic entwined with them. His robes were a mere simple blue with no indicator as to his rank or school preference – a bad sign for anyone who has ever battled a mage. Only the young a foolish mages wear the robes of their rank and what school of magica they major in.

It was the wise ones who dressed as this one did.

I eyed the man hauntingly. Mages were near the top of my hate list. They were not at the very top because of my psychotic hatred for the undead. Liches were the worst. I _hated_ liches. Stupid undead mages. Mages are bad enough alive, but then there are some who desire to live forever and become the undead.

Idiots.

He left the doorway he'd been standing in and strolled towards me confidently. "You here for the count's test?"

I snorted. "Apparently."

"You don't sound too pleased."

"I'm not here willingly," I growled, displeased that he had decide to relocate closer to me. The throne room was huge. Couldn't he stand somewhere else?

"Part of the Thieves Guild?" he inquired with a smirk.

I snorted again. "The Thieves Guild is full of lazy pickpockets and idiots too afraid to perform any real heists. A successful thief is a rich thief, and none of them are rich."

He threw his head back and laughed. "An independent thief then?"

"I suppose you could call me that."

"I hope you win the task. You aren't bragging about meeting the Gray Fox or of being such-and-such rank in the Thieves Guild."

"Met the Gray Fox once," I admitted. "Wasn't impressed. He's just some idiot Breton in a mask."

"They say he's immortal."

My eyes rolled on their own accord. "I followed the Breton home. He's not an immortal. He's just a beggar who stumbled upon the Cowl of Nocturnal."

The mage laughed again and leaned against the pillar next to me. "I wouldn't advise you saying that to anyone out in the courtyard. Those lot are extremely gun-ho over their Guild Master."

I glared at the Dunmer. Not because of what he said, but because of what he did. This was _my_ pillar. How dare he think he's invited to lean against it with me? I do not play well with wizards. They always end up losing fingers, tongues, and their lives.

Luckily, the guard returned then. "Count Indarys will be with you shortly," he announced.

"Oh, goody," I grumbled, pulling myself away from the pillar.

The Count suddenly appeared, flanked by his personal guard. There were three instead of the normal solitary one. Apparently, the sudden addition of thieves being a common sight in the castle had the Count on edge.

"Good day!" Count Indarys greeted warmly. "City Watch Man Heftiv has informed me that you are quite skilled in acrobatics and precision – almost as if you were trained in the arts of thievery."

"I've been trained in something of the type," I replied coldly. Constantly being labeled a thief was getting on my nerves.

Count Indarys seemed to understand that I didn't care about the pleasantries and just wanted him to get on with the important details. "Well, as I'm most certain you know, the Cyrodiil Tournament is being held in a few weeks and I am gathering up the best citizens of Cheydinhal in order to locate those with the skills that are needed. I have already chosen a warrior and you have met my chosen mage, Honoratus Antonio. All that is left is the thief. In two days, I will be declaring the task, which needs to be preformed in order to join in the tournament. Until then, please entertain yourself in town or my castle courtyard. Do refrain from stealing from the citizens. If you are caught performing thievery, you will be thrown in jail and miss the task."

I nodded and crossed my arms. "Is that all?"

"Yes," the Count said pleasantly.

"Alright. Thank you and goodbye. I will see you in two days." I pivoted on my heels and strolled out of the throne room, leaving red-faced Count fuming in anger. No one dismissed himself or herself from his presence. He always gave them leave.

But I was one very pissed of Dark Brotherhood member. I didn't care about royalty or anyone else for that matter. I wanted to go home and rest.

Dusk was just starting to settle in when I exited the main castle entryway. Sighing happily at the forming shadows, I pulled my hood up and strolled down the street. The evening was cool and slightly breezy, aiding in calming my fowl mood.

Thief. I was no thief. Idiots if they thought that.

I did not look like a thief. I did not move like a thief. I did not act like a thief. When I entered a room, it wasn't instinct to evaluate which items were the most valuable and which were mere gaudy replications. I didn't scuttle from place to place, constantly glancing over my shoulder to see who was watching. I didn't constantly have a hand on my dagger, as if afraid I wouldn't be able to pull it quick enough if I was attacked.

I was an assassin – fully trained and silently deadly. I possessed the fluid grace of one of my trade. I did not embellish my attire, but wore only what was suited for the task at hand. When I entered a room, I strode in purposefully and without fear. Valuables were nothing more than baubles I might decide to take with me. I did not assess them. I assessed everything else in the room. Who was there and what form of danger could they present? Were there any obstacles in the area? How many escape routes were accessible? These were things that could prove beneficial or disastrous to my contract.

But most importantly, I always knew I could reach my weapon on time. I had the fastest reflexes of anyone in the Brotherhood and was never forced to keep my blades close at hand.

Yet, there was one thing I was thievish at. I loved stealing food. As a child, I grew up with the hardship of never getting enough to eat – a form of indoctrination for the Dark Brotherhood. This made my bodily frame shorter and thinner than most Bosmers – which made my craft much more easier to perform. Tight spaces were a breeze for me. As I grew older and performed minuscule tasks for those of higher rank than I, I became familiar with how wealthy members of society behaved. I had come from a decently well-off family, but it still amazed me as to how much food wealthy families had and would go through.

When Vicente Valtieri decided to have me practice my sneaking skills, he ordered me to go into Count Indarys' castle and steal things without getting caught. He did not care what it was I took, but I needed to spend an entire day inside the castle and not be seen.

Needless to say, Vicente was quite astonished when I returned a day later with seventy-five loaves of bread, twenty-eight cheese wheels, fourteen pumpkins, one hundred-seventeen grapes, thirty-two apples, twenty-three tomatoes, ten gloves of garlic, twenty-nine slabs of meat, and about two-hundred samples of random spices and herbs. Took me four trips to transport my haul from the castle to the sanctuary but it was worth it. I was quite pleased with my plunder.

Vicente wasn't.

At first, he thought I had merely ran from pantry to pantry and hid behind those doors for the entire day, but then he heard rumor of a ghost reeking havoc in Cheydinhal Castle. Apparently, the spirit was stealing the foot right under the Count's and his chefs' noses. As the cooks prepared the evening meal, the food they were preparing would slowly start to disappear. For just a second, they'd turn their backs on a carrot and when they turned back to it, the vegetable would be gone. All throughout the cooking hours this occurred until the kitchens and cupboards were barren and the cooks were praying to the Nine Divines.

When the Count finally sat down to dinner, he spoke with his entourage before turning to begin his meal, but where a meal had sat, nothing was there now. In but a few seconds, an entire table had been stripped bare of its edibles and no one in the room had noticed anything and they had determined that no living creature – man or beast – could perform these acts.

So hence the ghost idea was formed. They still often speak of the ghost, mostly because I often raid all the food from the castle about once every month or so. Doing something familiar was always a pleasant change.


End file.
